


three's company

by milo_the_fish



Series: desecration [4]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Torture, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dismemberment, Dream-Centric, Gen, Gonna Be Put On The FBI Watchlist For This, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milo_the_fish/pseuds/milo_the_fish
Summary: Big Brother Wilbur has some words for the green bastard, what happens after wasn't set in the plans, or was it?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: desecration [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108478
Comments: 20
Kudos: 266
Collections: SBI Fics to Make Sebbie Cry





	three's company

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, quick note: Wilbur calls Tommy "babylove" in this oneshot once and I wanted to assure you it is not intended in a shippy way! My mother calls me something similar and I was nervous about including it so my friend suggested a note so here is your notice! 
> 
> Also, uh please understand why there is an explicit warning, this fic will including a lot of disturbing imagery and is not for the faint of heart, so please proceed with caution.

Dream was stood outside of the embassy, staring at the empty doorway, and deciding whether he should strike or leave. Tommy has been a thorn in his side since day one, always corrupting Tubbo from the correct path, always causing issues for everyone else. He didn’t hate Tommy per se, but he always saw Tommy as a nuisance that he needed to crush under his heel, but he continued to come back, like a cockroach. It was always funny how somehow Tommy was able to weasel his way into the hearts of people, Wilbur had trusted him immediately and continue to until his very end (“Are you sure Tommy will stay on your side, Wilbur?” “Yes, he would _never_ betray me, you spout lies, Dream.”), Technoblade was under his beck and call for a long time (“Well, you see that’s going to be a bit of a problem, Dream, because this guy’s with me.”), Tubbo _always_ chose Tommy (“Do you trust him, Tubbo?” “I always will, Dream.” “Even if he puts the discs in front of your nation?” _“Yes.”),_ hell, _for some reason_ Bad and Sapnap had a soft spot for the kid (“You can’t seriously be defending him, Bad!” “Dream, you are asking me if you should kill a _child_ , a **_child_** , Dream!” “Well, should I?” “He’s already beaten down enough, Dre.” “Fuck off, Sap.” _“Hey man_ , I saw him last time we visited, and he was not doing too well. If Wilbur was still alive, he’d rake you with coals and spit on your corpse.” “Like he’d ever best me.” “He’d do anything for Tommy, Dream, even if it means killing the unkillable.”) _._

Sometimes it irritated him, Tommy was _nothing_ , he was a petulant child, he was a _nudnik,_ he didn’t deserve the praise he was receiving. Dream was waiting for the day Tommy would be destroyed, all he was a pain in the ass, he destroys things, his loud voice always an octave away from a screech. He grates on him; he agitates every part of Dream’s instincts and leaves his hands humming with the need to _kill kill kill_.

It’s why Dream did what he did in exile, breaking Tommy’s morale, destroying his tools and armor, leaving him isolated with only the broken shell of his brother. Tommy was so close to where Dream needed him to be, he was so close to _finally being_ his new lapdog. If only Wilbur had seen him, the new Tommy that would’ve come out of exile, the idea of it was _beautiful._ A sick satisfaction bubbles in his stomach at the way Wilbur’s eyes would’ve widened, the way his snarl of a smile would turn to a frown as his brother would end his measly life, fear present in his dark eyes. Even the idea of Tommy destroying Technoblade or Philza filled his heart with glee, the way Tommy would demolish his family without listening to their drivels falling from their frothy maws and their begs sounding more desperate to get through to a kid no longer there. He had been _so_ close to that reality, to _finally destroying_ those rats that continue to interrupt his plans. 

That was until Tommy had escaped, broken free from him, and teamed up with Technoblade, that’s when it had taken a turn for the worse. His plan had fallen apart, and he needed to get it back on track before ending this all, before finally proving his superiority above everyone in this server. That’s why he was here, standing outside Tommy’s home, wondering if he should enter or wait for another day, but before he could even continue his train of thought a hand lands on his shoulder. He tries to keep himself from flinching, and he turns his head to look at the person next to him. Dream knew that random people roam the Prime Path at any moment, but he hadn’t expected Wilbur _fucking_ Soot to be standing behind him, his smile too wide to be friendly and eyes closed in a way that feels condescending. “Good evening, Dream,” he speaks, voice still smooth and elegant, “Why don’t you come in for tea?” He takes his hand away and steps towards the path, walking towards the embassy. Dream follows, unsure of what is going on truly, if this is some trick Ghostbur is pulling, maybe he doesn’t remember everything.

Wilbur places his scarf and coat on a rack next to the door, motioning Dream to the new table that sits next to a furnace and chest, he grabs a kettle off of the fireplace, using a hot-pad to carry it towards the counter. The house looked much different than when Dream had seen it last, with new furnishings and tapestries, even new flooring. It feels more lived-in than when Tommy lived here last, and maybe that was Wilbur’s influence, or Tubbo’s. Wilbur grabs a few mugs from a cabinet, placing them next to the kettle, “So you’re alive,” Dream states, sitting down on one of the wooden chairs. Wilbur lets out a chuckle, “Resurrected is more the correct term.” He opens a drawer and takes out two spoons, hip checking it back to place and grabbing a little container. “How do you take your tea?” He asks, turning back to Dream for a moment, “One sugar,” he replies.

Wilbur nods, returning to the mugs, placing the bags in the bottom, and pouring the hot water on top. He opens the little container and spoons out the substance, which turns out to be sugar and starts to mix both of the drinks. “Do you want milk?” Wilbur queries, walking towards a chest at the edge of the kitchen, “No.” The taller man tuts, “ _Such a shame_ ,” he pulls out a bucket of milk and walks back towards the tea, “It’s really quite good, you should try it sometime.” He adds some to one mug and places it back into another chest. Wilbur takes the two mugs and walks towards the table, placing the non-milked tea in front of Dream and placing his in front of the empty chair across from him. They sit in silence for a moment, Wilbur blowing on his tea and Dream mixing his with the spoon. “So, what brings you here, Dream?” Wilbur states, it sounds much less than a question and more like a statement, he takes a sip from his tea. Dream stops stirring for a second, “I wanted to check up on Tommy, I haven’t seen him since L’Manberg blew up... again.” He moves the mug towards his mouth and takes a hesitant sip, the tea doesn’t taste awful or laced with a potion, his palette was so fine-tuned to the distinct changes' potions create in food items—due to his own interest many years ago.

He places the mug back down at the table, looking back up at Wilbur, seeing the still sly smile on the man’s face, “Well, I can assure you, Dream, that _my_ Toms is doing mighty fine!” A harsh layer of protectiveness seems to wash over the taller man at the mention of his younger brother, Dream likes that he is still so readable after all these months. Wilbur brings the tea back up to his mouth and takes a long sip, and when Dream was about to say something else there is the distinct noise of a wooden bowl dropping to the ground and creating a loud _bonk!_ on the hardwood floor. Both of them look in the direction of the noise, seeming Tommy standing in the doorway to their right, his expression is blank but you can see the fear in his eyes. Wilbur is out of his seat quickly, padding over to Tommy faster than Dream has ever seen him do before. He shields Tommy from him, whispering into his ear, and hugging him. “Toms, babylove, go to Snowchester with Tubbs, yeah? I promise we’ll be done soon; I’ll message you when he’s gone,” He places a hand on Tommy’s cheek and places a kiss on his forehead, “If you run into any trouble, tell me _please_ ,” Tommy nods and latches onto Wilbur again, which sets of Wilbur into a small laugh, “Aww, a little clingyinnit hug.” There is a small reply that is deafened by Wilbur squeezing him back.

Tommy lets go of Wilbur and is about to scamper out the door before Wilbur takes the tan sweater off and ushers it onto the lanky boy, “It’s cold out there, yeah? Grab my scarf on the way out as well, I’ll take care of the bowl.” The blond nods and walks towards the rack and takes the red scarf off of the hook and loops it around his neck, “Be back soon, Will.”

“Be _careful_ , Tommy!” Wilbur shouts as his brother slips out of the house, and into the cold abyss of the night. Dream watches as Wilbur picks up the bowl and heads towards the basin that is sat between a crafting table and a smoker. Wilbur rolls up the sleeves of his pale yellow button-up after putting the bowl on the counter. He places it lightly in the basin and runs the faucet a little, grabbing some soap from the under-sink cabinet. The faucet squeaks to life as Wilbur pumps it lightly, flooding the bowl and spoon, Dream takes another sip from his tea.

“So Dream, why did you _really_ come here?” Wilbur says, arms still under the water as he removes the remnants of the soup. Dream wants to ignore the question, “I told you, I came in to check on Tommy.” Wilbur tsks at him, “Now Dream, we’re friends aren’t we? I’d like to think we are, but we _both_ know that you are lying,” he turns to face Dream once again, leaning against the basin with his arms crossed over his chest. Dream wants to get up, he wants to speak back but his tongue is starting to feel heavy, and his legs don’t move when he tries to will them to. “ _Oh Dream_ ,” Wilbur croons, “I see a cat has got your tongue, I wonder how it got there.” He steps away from the basin, but Dream can’t fully see it, his eyelids drooping and vision becoming blurry. Wilbur grabs his chin and makes Dream look up at him, and that’s when he sees it, a hint of the man in Pogtopia, the one who exploded his nation. He giggles, “ _Oh Dream_ , we’re gonna have so _much_ fun.” That’s when everything fades to black.

Dream wakes up to coldness, his limbs heavy, and footsteps far away from him. He lets out a little groan, trying to move his head up but feeling a weight on his neck. “ _Good_ , you’re awake,” Wilbur says, his voice in the distance, “I was wondering when it would wear off, Tech had told me it would last half an hour, but you never know!” A pounding headache was starting to beat through his skull, it’s why it takes him a moment to realize that his mask is gone, the void that sits behind it now present. “Now Dream, you don’t need to worry about that, I’ve seen your true form, no need to cover up in front of me,” Wilbur is now crouched in front of him, his clothes are different, a black turtleneck with a puffy coat, a fur trim on the hood. “Wh-“ He tries to push out, speech still slurred due to the numbness of his tongue. Wilbur just chuckles, “You won’t be needing that any longer, Dream,” he takes him by the chin, big hand clenching his mouth shut, squeezing tighter and tighter, “Because I’m going to destroy every little bit and piece of you, I’m going to send your head to your friends, and I’m going to watch as they squirm. You hurt my brother, my _son_ , Dream, you manipulated him, you gaslit him, you _destroyed_ him. I’m going to pay back the favor, and give you **_everything_** that you deserve, _Dream_.”

He released Dream’s chin and walks towards a table to their right, it too high for the contents to be viewed from the cold stone floor. Dream’s legs are still numb, but he can see the chains now bundled around his ankles and thighs, holding him to the wall. He should be able to get out of this, break through the binds and just—his attempts at breaking them falter, he can’t destroy it no matter how much of his power he tries to push out, “You- You couldn’t of-” Wilbur looks back at him and smiles, no longer the sly smirk but an open mouth grin, his canines so prominent it feels like they grew and got bigger, “ _Oh_ , but I did, Dream! Put out all stops for the big man, for the daemon destroying the only person I have left, got to make sure you don’t move your displeasing head until I’m done with you.”

Wilbur grabs a tool off the table, looking distinctly like a tool has never seen before in his millennium of life, and that’s when Dream for the first time in centuries, feels fear. “You see, Dream, there was one issue I had when looking up your kind,” he opens the tool, placing both sides around Dream’s right index finger, right below the ring Sapnap had given him in their ‘youth’, it was something he was fond of now stained in his dark blood, “Nobody has ever tried to hurt them, by extension you, they’re too scared of whatever it is that makes up your matter, thinking some sort of _god_ created you, but I’ve seen the light, Dream, and there is no god.” Wilbur swiftly closes the tool; it creates a small _shuck_ sound as it goes through his finger, severing it from his body. He doesn’t expect to feel it, wishing for his automatic regeneration to start, but it doesn’t, the pain isn’t receding, it’s growing. Ichor leaks onto the floor, spurting from the clean-cut on his hand, and that’s when Dream realizes, that he isn’t going to live through this evening, no matter how he hopes his powers to return to him and help him, provide some aid to his growing searing agony, but no luck comes for him.

“You’re hoping for something that won’t provide you any semblance of peace, Dream,” Wilbur continues, placing the sharp shears around another one of his fingers, “Tommy was never given peace under your care.” _Snip_ , “You broke him, Dream,” _snip, “_ Tormented him,” _snip, “_ Abused him,” _snip_ , “Exiled him,” _snip_ , “You’ve changed my boy, Dream, he couldn’t even look me in the eye after I returned, too afraid that I was going to _hurt him_ like _you have_.” A giant metallic smelling pool sits underneath Dream’s right hand, all fingers now stubs, the insides of his knuckles now visible. A haze of aching, of pure and utter suffering, is flowing through his hand down through his wrist, becoming just a dull static of white noise above his existence. He can feel his eyes drooping, it all being too much too quickly, that’s until he gets a slap in the face, “Keep awake, can’t be having any of my fun with you asleep, now can I?”

Dream blinks his eyes open, nothing Wilbur still cannot see them, but he grits his teeth at the crazed beam Wilbur is now sending his way, “Good, Dreamy you’re gonna have to be a _good boy_ during this next part, or it may end up making this worse for you, and _we don’t want that, now do we?”_ Wilbur grabs another device from the table and hides it in his sleeve as he walks over, kneeling in front of his chained body, his boot only a centimeter from the pool of carnage flooding out of his right hand. In a swift movement Wilbur grabs his chin once again, holding it tightly and slowly opening Dream’s mouth with his thumb. His left-hand lifts, revealing the unknown weapon next to be used against him, a sharp and thin knife, and his grip tightens, and the knife is placing on the back of his tongue. “I know what you said to him,” Wilbur says, pressing the blade down on the slick surface of his tongue, “Every word you ever said to my boy in exile,” hot fire starts to burn in the back of his mouth as Wilbur continues, pressing harder and harder, sending shockwaves of aching and scorching prickles of suffering down his spine and towards his brain, the nervous strip going haywire with the neural overstimulation.

“I have them written down, Dream,” he continues, pressing harder when he reaches the middle, “In a journal you never knew about, I wrote down everything my poor fragile mind could hear because I knew one day someone would need it,” he presses forward, ignoring the choking in Dream’s throat as blood continues to rush out of the wound. “I just didn’t know that the person would be me,” he cuts through the final muscle membrane and he takes it out of his mouth, the large pink lump had gray at the edges, one of the side effects of Dream’s existence, a slow decay. “That’s fascinating, truly,” Wilbur says, taking the now useless object and placing it on the table. “Lean forward, the blood will flow out,” he places the knife back down on the table and moves to grab the shears again, “I promise you, ya big baby, that this will all be done soon, I just need to do one more than and then I’ll give you the pièce de résistance, which I think is very fitting, considering our positions, Dream.”

He sits, not listening to Wilbur’s advice, knowing it would kill him faster, “What did I say, Dream? Lean **_forward_** ,” he is abruptly pushed forward on his knees, catching himself with his palms and trying to not cry out in pain. His mouth opens and outpours the bloody ichor of his demonic frame, trying to heal itself but the powers usually present are long now absent, _curse Wilbur_. “Get it out, Dream,” a pat is tapped out on the back of his ribs, and Dream wants to hit it, wants to destroy Wilbur where he stands, the glare in his eyes evident even through the noxious void. The pool on the ground is growing, saliva mixing with blood, so dark it looks almost black, “Good boy, now sit back down and stay still,” and Dream spits at him. The blood spatter on Wilbur’s chin and neck, accuracy gone with his tongue, and the disgusting smile on Wilbur’s mouth fades and his face goes expressionless.

“You think this is a game, Dream, you think that I’m just going to let you out of here the first sign of trouble, I’ve spent _months_ trying to figure out what to do,” he takes Dream’s hand off the floor and places the shears around his middle finger, “Months documenting, _months_ trying to secretly undo what you’ve done, and now that I’m here, I’m corporeal,” _snip_ , “I can finally make you understand how _wrong_ of you,” _snip_ , “it was to pick a fight with my baby brother,” _snip_ , “to impair him the way that you have, you _mutilated_ him, Dream, almost turning him into somebody I would never be able to recognize as my own.” _Snip_ , “But I do, though, I would recognize that boy even if I was dead for twenty years, because Dream there is one thing you can never take from him,” he lines up the shears for a final time, surrounding the blood-stained pinky with its final call to death, “You could never take his spirit, no matter how much you _break_ and _chip_ away at him, no matter how much you try to dismantle _my Tommy_ ,” his hands grip the handles, “you will never break the everlasting hope, the goodness I bestowed in that boy, and no matter how many of you scoundrels try to take off chunks, he will come back stronger, wiser, _better_ , than any of you will ever be,” **_snip_**.

Wilbur pulls away the blades, watching as Dream almost falls, his body succumbing to the large amount of pain and blood-loss, “Everything I do, Dream, is for Tommy. You don’t see the good in him because you are such a vile creature, nobody loves you, your _friends_ are going to see your head on a silver platter, the one you granted them above anyone else.” He steps towards the table, tossing the heavy tool on top of it, “You are a creature of habit, and you will never change, you will betray your friends over and over, causing them to distrust you, meaning your eternity will be alone, cold, dark, like the abyss of death that I once met myself, except this time, you won’t be at peace, you’ll be aching to be put back together, but nobody will care enough about you to go through with this wish.” He takes a rag off a basket behind the tall wooden thing, and wipes his face and neck, “You see Dream, at the end of the day I have Tommy, the one person I’ve proven my loyalty to over and over again, the one person who has never betrayed me no matter how much you try to meddle, and _you_ have _no one_. Your puppets despise you, any friend you had has left, but me? I have my brother, and that’s all I ever need, because power used to corrupt me, for a home that my brother would feel safe in, but now I know that no home is worth losing him. No home is worth being your vassal, no home is worth my son’s neglect.” Wilbur places the small cloth on the table and grabs another tool, a long saw with beveled teeth and a hardy wooden handle, “I am my son’s home, but you are homeless.”

**Author's Note:**

> UH thank you for reading this mess of a oneshot I just felt the need to write something centered around a plotline from something else that I enjoy so really, uh yeah. Also if you can guess what the one shot is in reference to be my friend I need more friends who talk about the reference material. Anyways, I'm gonna be put on the FBI watchlist for this fic so if I end up in jail please post my bail :)
> 
> my new twitter :) 


End file.
